Using another section of rope that hung loosely around one of the body segments, Wyand secured himself to the animal’s back. He gripped the two large ropes that were attached to the scrid’s tusks and prepared for Adelea’s next set of instructions. “Walk towards me, then make the scrid return to where it’s standing now,” she said. Thinking through the proper motions and sounds, Wyand pressed his heels against the scrid’s hard exterior and held on tightly. As he’d hoped, it walked forward without issue to where Adelea stood. When it was close to her, he pulled back on the ropes and clicked his tongue once. The scrid slowed to a stop several strides from the waiting Bloodsister.
To turn the animal around, Wyand pressed on one side of its body with his foot and whistled a single shrill note. The scrid turned, but it continued to spin even after it had reached the direction Wyand wanted it to walk. He looked at Adelea helplessly as the scrid spun in a tight circle.
“Press with both feet when it’s lined up with your destination,” she advised, and Wyand complied. The scrid flowed forward across the ground until it reached the spot where they’d started. Wyand pulled back on the tusk ropes and the animal came to a stop as he’d hoped it would.
“Decent,” Adelea nodded. “Now, do it again.” Wyand repeated the task four more times before the Bloodsister was satisfied with his progress for the day. “We need to get you back to the Wargarden. There is much for us to cover if you are meant to leave for the desert in less than a week,” Adelea said. “Bring her to me and dismount. I’ll meet you inside.”
Wyand pressed lightly with both feet until the scrid was within a stride of Adelea, then he repeated the process of bringing the massive creature to a stop. He climbed down from the woven seat and passed the tusk ropes off to Adelea before starting back to the Wargarden. There was a lingering silence behind him, and when Wyand glanced back he found the Bloodsister staring at him with raised eyebrows and a faint smirk. What is she looking at? he wondered. She quickly turned away, leading the scrid deeper into the forest. Wyand shuddered; her dark red hair swayed beautifully every time she moved.
Back inside the Wargarden, Wyand retrieved a practice staff from the wall beside the entrance and moved to the center of the floor. He was glad his training sessions with Adelea had thus far been private, but he knew a day was rapidly approaching where he would have to spar with other students to demonstrate what he had learned. He moved through a few of the forms, kicking up clouds of dust as he slid across the dirt floor. Just as he was beginning to fall into a rhythm, a hand darted out and stopped his practice staff in mid-swing.
Startled, Wyand turned to find Adelea. “I’ll take this,” she said, pulling the staff free, “and you take that.” Wyand looked to where she pointed beside the entrance and found a full set of Sreathan plate waiting for him. “The Order of Stone finished it this morning,” Adelea explained. “Go put it on. Make sure it all fits properly.”
Wyand forced himself to walk instead of run to the entrance, but his excitement was still clearly visible. When he reached the set of plate, Wyand hesitated when he realized it would be difficult to fit into the new armor while still wearing his current working clothes. “What am I supposed to do with these?” he asked, tugging on his shirt.
“Remove them, of course,” Adelea chuckled. “You’ll get far too hot otherwise. Don’t worry, I won’t watch.” The same smirk Wyand had seen earlier crept onto her face again; Wyand just sighed and looked away for fear of making things even more awkward. He hurriedly stripped off his field clothes—not once daring to glance in Adelea’s direction—then carefully placed the different sections of plate onto his legs, arms, chest, and feet. To Wyand’s surprise, the entire set of armor weighed far less than he’d anticipated. He jumped up and down several times to familiarize himself with the way this new clothing moved, then he finally turned to face Adelea and her confusing looks.
“Is this right?” Wyand asked as he secured the stone from the Cavern of the Winds in one of the interior waist pockets.
Adelea smiled. “You almost look like a true Bloodbrother now. Does everything feel like it fits properly?”
“I think so.”
“Good. Then it’s time to see what you can do with the practice staff now that you’re fully armored.” Wyand caught the staff after Adelea threw it to him, and he instantly assumed the ready posture with the end of the staff resting on the ground beside his foot. Standing rigid with the staff tucked tightly against his right side, Wyand stared forward at nothing as he waited for Adelea’s order. No words followed; Adelea instead used a short whistle and a click to tell Wyand to begin the attack forms.
It was another part of understanding An’ymb Glor: in battle, the Cynmeren communicated only through what they sometimes referred to as the “Song of War,” and that included commands issued to both people and animals. After six days of practice, it was still difficult sometimes for Wyand to remember the subtleties of each of the forms. Thankfully, with Adelea’s guidance and the swiftness of her own staff, Wyand found his muscles remembering the motions even when his mind could not.
He kicked the bottom end of the staff forward until it was parallel with the floor and pointed directly at his imaginary attacker. At the same time, with his foot already raised from the kick, Wyand charged forward and rotated the other end of his staff towards the attacker’s legs with incredible force. An instant later, Wyand advanced yet again as he spun the end in front of him in what Adelea called a ‘disarming circle.’ He struck high, then gripped the near end with both hands and slammed the far end against the ground in a spray of dirt.
Wyand’s demonstration continued without incident through the beginning of the attack forms, but when it came time for him to squat low, he encountered the first moment of awkwardness with his newly-acquired Sreathan plate. With the armor on, Wyand’s core couldn’t curl as tightly as it normally could, so he ended up tumbling into the dirt from being jarred out of balance so suddenly. Adelea laughed. “Bend at your waist and keep your back straight! Start again,” she shouted. Wyand climbed to his feet and began the forms again, paying special attention to keeping his back as straight as possible.
Other commands followed: a long, low hoot signaled the defensive forms, in which every motion added distance between the fighter and the attackers; a series of soft, rapid clicks initiated the stealth forms, where the strikes were short and always followed by an immediate change in direction. Throughout the session, Wyand faltered a handful of times, but he was astonished at how natural the armor felt overall. When Adelea finally issued the wavering whistle to end the practice, Wyand was drenched in sweat but smiling broadly with delight.
“I don’t know if you’ve actually improved with the addition of the armor or if you were just trying harder since your friends were watching. Either way, excellent work,” Adelea smiled as Wyand passed her the practice staff. Confused, he glanced around the Wargarden and was shocked to find the Unwoven and Haemlan standing near one of the main roof supports. Haemlan leaned against the massive timber, clearly still weak from his injuries, but smiling proudly nonetheless.
“That was something to behold!” Haemlan laughed as Wyand approached. “I never imagined I would live to see you in the armor of a Bloodbrother, yet here you stand.’
“Here I stand? What about you standing so soon after suffering the journey you did?” Wyand asked.
Haemlan waved his hand dismissively. “It’s nothing. I’m almost fully healed at this point,” he said, then he glanced at Adelea. “Forgive the interruption, Bloodsister.”
“Nothing to forgive, Guided. He needs a rest anyway,” Adelea smiled darkly at Wyand before returning to the center of the floor to resume her own practice. Haemlan chuckled quietly to himself as he hobbled over to Wyand.
“Watch out for that one, boy,” he whispered from Wyand’s shoulder, nodding in Adelea’s direction. Wyand didn’t fully understand what he meant, but the implications were unsettling. Seeing Wyand in a state of discomfort made
Haemlan laugh even louder. “Come on. It’s a nice enough day. Let’s go find a spot to sit outside,” Haemlan suggested. Still in a lingering daze, Wyand nodded and helped his childhood mentor out into the daylight. An old log near the entrance to the Wargarden served as an ideal seat for the two of them; the Unwoven followed, but remained standing while Wyand and Haemlan talked.
“It’s good to see you up and walking, Haemlan,” Wyand smiled as soon as they were seated, “but why are you here?”
“I am Guided. I go where I please, when I please,” Haemlan replied with no small amount of self-importance filling his voice. Then he grinned suddenly and glanced at the Unwoven.
“He complained about going for a walk until the Handsisters couldn’t take it any longer,” she said bluntly. “I finally volunteered to help him find you.”
“I didn’t complain that much,” Haemlan protested. “It’s only been…what, six days since I spoke to you on the night of your assessment, Wyand? Surely I didn’t ask more than a few times each day since then to see you.”
“It was more like a few times an hour,” the Unwoven muttered.
“Forgive me for not coming to see you sooner, Haemlan,” Wyand apologized.
“It’s not like you’ve been busy!” Haemlan laughed. “The Thoughtcaster is suddenly brought back to life, a mysterious glowing stone of power, proof of the Old Kingdom itself, and it’s all connected to you somehow. Taking the time to talk to one old man should fall very low on your list of priorities right now.”
“That’s not true at all,” Wyand protested. “I’ve wanted to talk to you as well, but I knew you were still in the care of the Handsisters. You needed time to heal. Plus, they don’t approve of me visiting their patients.” The Unwoven snorted but didn’t deny the truth of his statement.
“It’s all past now; we’re here, we can talk. But please, you are the newcomer, my questions can wait. What did you want to talk to me about?” Haemlan asked.
Though there were hundreds of questions Wyand wanted to pose to his old friend, one thought rose above the rest. “All of these turnings…I thought you were dead,” he whispered.
“Ah yes. The night of my Casting,” Haemlan nodded to himself. “I suppose that would leave you with some questions. To put it simply, I thought I was dying, and apparently the Cultivators thought I was too. I was evidently unconscious for a long time after the blast from that staff knocked me off the wall, because when I woke up I was already on the Casting Platform. There was a moment when I thought to protest, but they were already finished with me by that point. A cold river, a long fall, and a very painful tangle of branches are the only things I remember after that until one of the Watches rescued me and brought me here.”
“But you’re…how did you become Guided?” Wyand asked.
“I’ve always been Guided, it’s just that the Murk kept me from being aware of it,” Haemlan explained. “There are dozens, maybe hundreds more just like me in Aldhagen and Locboran right now, unaware of the incredible gift they possess. There were always subtle hints, even with the Murk still in effect: dreams that seemed too real, waking visions that defied all logic, the feeling of having already lived events before they occurred, undeniable urges to do strange things like climb the walls of Aldhagen. Ultimately, I knew it would all be viewed as madness, so I tried to always suppress those thoughts and urges for fear of being cast out. You can see how effective that was.”
“But why did they cast you out? What had you done wrong?”
“I climbed too high,” Haemlan replied sadly. “If I’d been allowed to go a few strides higher, I could have seen the entirety of the lands beyond the walls. The Cultivators couldn’t allow that, since it would defy their story that ‘only death waits beyond Wracandyr.’ So, they shot me down and cast me out.” A long silence followed, with Haemlan lost in his memories and Wyand unsure what to say in reply.
“Anyway, that was all long ago,” Haemlan continued. “Let’s talk about a more recent Casting, or rather the lack thereof, from what Fadian tells me. What took you out of Aldhagen, Wyand?”
“I fell into the Great River,” Wyand answered simply.
Haemlan stared at him skeptically. “You know that I’ve already spoken with Fadian, so I’m aware it was a bit more complicated than that. Try again,” the Stormbrother said. Wyand struggled to find words, remembering Leomar’s stern command to never again discuss the stone’s ability to kill Venerates.
“There was a conflict,” Wyand began, “a disagreement between one of the Woodsmen and me. We fought and eventually both fell off of the Casting Platform by accident.”
“What was the source of your disagreement?” Haemlan asked, his eyes swirling with bright blue as they latched onto Wyand’s own. Wyand looked away, but he could still feel Haemlan’s gaze attempting to burn its way into his thoughts.
“He said the mining task was unfit to provide the Kingdomturn offering. I told him that wasn’t true and bordered on blasphemy. He was offended and we started to fight,” Wyand said in a rush, trying to get out as many words as possible before he was forced to look back into Haemlan’s eyes.
“I see,” Haemlan said a moment later, nodding thoughtfully. Wyand wasn’t certain if his old friend had believed the story or if he was simply tired of listening to Wyand’s foolishness. Haemlan’s next question hinted towards the latter option. “Do you have the stone with you now?” Haemlan asked with a knowing smirk and an outstretched hand.
“I have it,” Wyand said slowly, fumbling through the layers of Sreathan plate to retrieve the stone from his interior waist pocket. He passed it to Haemlan, who smiled as he stared at the mysterious yet unassuming object. The Unwoven, who had been disinterested in Wyand and Haemlan’s conversation thus far, now was suddenly fixated on the stone from the Cavern of the Winds.
“It’s lighter than I imagined,” Haemlan said with a chuckle, rolling the stone from one hand to the other. Then he paused, a flicker of recognition changing his expression as he stared at the stone. Before Wyand knew what was happening, Haemlan reached into his robes and produced a small but very sharp-looking knife.
“Where—how did you get that?” Ryna gasped. “The Handsisters would be furious if they knew you took that from them.”
“I’m just borrowing it for a while. I need it so I can test something,” Haemlan replied, and he moved the knife slowly towards the stone. In an instant, the blade flew from Haemlan’s grasp and stuck firmly to the stone. Wyand knew what to expect, but seeing something that dangerous moving that fast was still terrifying. The Unwoven inhaled sharply, while Haemlan just smiled to himself as the metal of the knife reverberated from the impact. “The Visions reveal their truth once again,” Haemlan said, prying the knife free and passing it to the Unwoven. “I knew I needed to take that knife today, but I had no idea why. As soon as I saw this stone, the memory of a long-forgotten Vision leapt into my mind and I suddenly understood. It pulls metal to it somehow…. Fascinating. Just imagine what other surprising secrets this stone may possess.” He stared knowingly at Wyand, who was forced to look away once again for fear of revealing the stone’s darker truths.
“I didn’t think it was important,” Wyand mumbled.
“Of course it’s important! This stone resurrected the Thoughtcaster; everything it does is important,” Haemlan said. “And, speaking of the Thoughtcaster, do you have it with you as well?”
“I do,” Wyand replied hesitantly, knowing what Haemlan was going to say next.
“May I witness the great truth you brought to us?” Haemlan asked. It was phrased as a question, but the intensity in his eyes and the tone of his voice marked it clearly in Wyand’s mind as a command.
“I want you to see the truth, Haemlan, but linking with the Thoughtcaster can be a very dangerous experience,” Wyand said worriedly. “The first time I used it, I was knocked to the ground. I’m just not sure it would be a wise thing to try in your current state.”
“Agreed,” the Unwoven declared.
“You shouldn’t even be out of bed, let alone interacting with some dangerous old relic.”
“Some would say you’re the one interacting with a ‘dangerous old relic’ just by spending time with me,” Haemlan teased her, but the Unwoven was not amused. “Besides, if the worst happens and I die, then you don’t have to hear my complaining anymore,” Haemlan added.
Clearly frustrated by Haemlan’s antics, the Unwoven sighed loudly and stomped back to the entrance of the Wargarden. “Let me know when it’s safe to come back,” she shouted over her shoulder before disappearing inside.
Haemlan chuckled quietly, then glanced at Wyand. “She has no idea this thing can kill the Cultivators, does she?”
“None whatsoever,” Wyand said. “Did the Visions reveal that secret to you too?”
“No, Fadian told me that one,” Haemlan replied.
“Leomar said we were never to speak of it again.”
“I can be very convincing.”
“Even with one of the other Guided?”
“Especially with them,” Haemlan laughed. “The Stormbrothers and Stormsisters are sometimes so occupied with the interpretation of Visions of past and future that they are blind to matters of the present. Fadian is no exception. Now, are you going to pass me the Thoughtcaster or am I going to have to borrow it the way I borrowed that knife from the Handsisters?"
Wyand hesitantly reached into the neck of his new armor and felt the chain that held the Thoughtcaster. He frowned and prepared to protest again, but one look at the confidence and determination in Haemlan’s gaze let Wyand know that any further argument would be pointless. Wyand sighed, then removed the Thoughtcaster and passed it to Haemlan.
“How does it work?” the Guided asked a moment later as he studied the small circle of metal.
“Put it around your neck, then touch the stone,” Wyand explained.
Kingdomturn Page 56
